The Book of the Sails by Eric Asher

Author:Eric Asher [Asher, Eric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Eric R. Asher
Published: 2020-02-11T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It wasn’t a subtle process. One moment they were blinded, and the next the fractured red skin of an ancient demon stood on the steps in front of Zola.

“You look different,” Zola said, eyeing the demon.

Tessrian’s eyes remained closed for a time as she took a few deep breaths. When she opened them, her lips curled into a smile. “Of course I look different here. I am not removed from the powers that grant me life. I am bathed in them.” She held up her hand and the fissures in her red flesh shrank. They didn’t heal entirely, but the change was obvious enough.

“Where is the tetradrachm?” Zola asked.

“So quick to business. I suppose time grows short for your apprentice. Come, I will take you to the vault that holds our treasures.”

Zola hesitated.

Tessrian stepped up onto the grass at the top of the stairs and waited. “Do you wish to know the fate of the tetradrachm or not? My pets will not harm you so long as you do not harm me.”

“Pets?” Mike said. “I’d hardly call those things pets.”

Zola eyed Tessrian. “If she kills me, free Ronwe. That should even the score.”

Before anyone could respond, Zola made her way up the broad stairs, her knobby old cane cracking against each step. When she reached the top, she paused, and then stepped onto the grass.

Vicky could have sworn she saw a ripple pass through the grass beneath Zola’s feet, but no more came of it. She breathed a sigh of relief before following the old Cajun.

“Wait,” Zola said, holding up her hand. She looked to Tessrian.

“What?” the demon asked with a frown. She glanced between Vicky and Zola. “Oh, she has nothing to fear here. The chosen vessel of Prosperine would never be harmed by those who guard these halls.”

Tessrian said no more, instead leading them to a short archway the demon had to duck through. Beyond waited darkness and something that felt terribly out of place in the Burning Lands: humidity.

Vicky danced across the matted grass at the top of dais, hearing the whispers of her friends behind her. But she didn’t turn back, following Tessrian and Zola deeper into the cramped tunnel.

A snap like fingers triggered five lanterns to bloom into life, leaving Tessrian and Zola as silhouettes until they entered a chamber Vicky wouldn’t have imagined was there.

“My … chair, as you called it,” Tessrian said, gesturing to an ornate throne. “Prosperine placed that sacrilegious monstrosity in the throne room, but this has always been the true seat of power.”

It was a simple thing, which at first glance appeared to be carved of wood, but was merely the pattern some craftsman had etched into bone long ago. The closer Vicky got, the more it reminded her of Graybeard’s ship, all bone and flesh made to resemble wood.

Zola tapped her cane on the ground and studied the room. Shelves climbed the walls above them, and a disorganized mess of stones and wood and something that looked suspiciously like mummies littered the floor.

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